Mrs Goyle Will See You Now
by Cordelia McGonagall
Summary: I couldn't just leave "Casting Stones" alone. Here is a drabble without an ending.


Author's note: So after I wrote "Casting Stones," I felt so bad for Eloise, yanked away from Goyle (who as we know gets himself into some trouble later) that I wrote a drabble about her as an adult. And then I took Harry's planner and gave it to Draco in "The Dangers of Ladders." I was going to delete this, but then I decided against it. :) Thanks to JKR who politely looks away from this madness.

Mrs. Goyle Will See You Now

Harry sat in the reception of Ministry Intelligence and fiddled with his leather planner. Hermione had bought it for him ten years ago when he realized he'd be able to plan a future of ordinary. He was taken with the idea of it; he relished the cosiness of planning holidays with Ginny and dutifully marking off dentist appointments with Dr. Granger, but the book was never going to change Harry, no matter how much he wanted it to. He would intend, each January, to fill the pages that yearly, optimistically, and magically refreshed themselves, yet they would remain, as the year progressed, woefully blank, and he relied on the Auror assistant to chase after him each morning on the way to his desk to tell him what was on the schedule at work. He always apologised to her for her trouble.

He didn't need the book - or a secretary - at home. After a childhood of celebrating birthdays by himself, Harry was sentimental, remembering small moments close to his heart. Ginny had blinked in shock the first time he'd brought her flowers to mark the anniversary of an otherwise ordinary day when he'd promised to never leave her behind again, if she would just have him back. It wasn't an engagement or a ceremony - it was a bench under a willow at the Burrow, one low, pleading _forgive me_ , one whispered _please_.

But still, Harry assigned meaning to the stiff leather-bound book, and he grabbed it from its dusty corner of his desk on the way to his yearly review, as far from comfortable as it was possible for him to be. The planner was not a battle shield, certainly; it just felt like the professional thing to do. Perhaps he'd take notes in it.

Even after deflecting glory and managing dangerous tasks for his entire adult life and much of his childhood, even with his sharp intuition, easy empathy, and dislike of unnecessary violence, Harry still felt a bit like a child on the way to Dumbledore's office when he was called in for a meeting with the Ministry Intelligence Office. MI was all about protocol and order, and the stranger behind the desk who would stare, half-bored, at his file would never fail to dig into his insecurities, which were easy to delve into after his tension-building wait in the formal reception. There would be some casual comment about standard procedure, a case solved with some small thread he'd left hanging that would haunt him for days. Later, Ginny would sit on his lap on their couch and nibble his neck and tell him not to worry, but as much as Harry enjoyed his cheering up, he could not help but worry that she was being naive. In Quidditch, there were winners and losers. She would replay films from her coaches' omnioculars over and over, but when it came down to it, a win was a win, and that is all there was to it. The MI employees he had rare occasion to encounter were inscrutable, but their rare interviews, coated with the sheen of bureaucracy, would hint at something deeper and greyer and more dangerous than cornering a fugitive wizard.

Harry's knee was bouncing. The planner wasn't helping.

He adjusted his Auror's robes and drummed out an irregular rhythm on the leather cover. Just then, the door opened, and an officious-looking wizard who reminded Harry unpleasantly of his brother-in-law stepped out into the hall.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. Mrs. Goyle will see you now."

Goyle? That name froze him to his chair for a moment. He must have waited a moment longer than was prudent, for the man rolled his eyes and and put one hand on a hip. This display of annoyance jerked Harry out of his thoughts; he wasn't accustomed, since the end of the War, to being treated rudely at the Ministry. As soon as this thought solidified in his mind, he regretted its arrogance. All of this must have played out on his face, for the assistant cocked an eyebrow, smirked, and made a small, fussy bow to wave Harry into the open office.

Harry's fluster did not detract him from carefully taking in the room and its occupant, the new undersecretary to Hestia Jones, now the chief of Ministry Intelligence.

A plain but pleasant-looking woman in tailored robes looked up from a sheaf of parchment and waved her wand in a gentle swipe to coax out the chair opposite hers. Harry blinked at her.

"Eloise Midgen?"

"Eloise Goyle, if you please."

"Oh! You..."

"Married Gregory, in our class, yes. I am sure you remember him."

"I should say I do, yes. He tried to kill me once," Harry murmured softly as his knuckles tightened on the planner now clenched in both hands.

Eloise nodded as if she'd anticipated this. "Well, Harry, we are all quite relieved he failed. You are invaluable - our second-best Auror." She beamed at him and pulled a file from the cabinet beneath her desk.

Harry blinked at _second-best._

"Well," she answered his unasked question, "Ron's really the best we've had since Kingsley; I am sure you'd say he's brilliant, and I'm not just saying that because he hauled Gregory out of that Fiendfyre." She looked out the window for a moment in thought. "I did thank him for that. He said Gregory bought him 'an awkward pint' some years ago." She smiled, absently.

Harry shook his head as if he were bothered by a buzzing in his ear. "You married Gregory Goyle," he said, as though the buzzing only now let the clues assemble themselves.

Eloise could see she was going to have to stop here for a bit. She smiled a new smile of goodwill that didn't reach her eyes. "Yes. It's been five years." She got up to tidy her desk, and she turned her back to him to put a book away on the shelf behind her.

Harry couldn't let this be true. She had left school because of the war. Had she known what she missed? "He was awful at school. To more than Ron."

Harry froze as Eloise thrust the book into its spot and spun quickly to face him. Her voice was low, cool, and unnerving, and Harry knew by her deep breath that he should brace himself. "My husband's behaviour at school is his to atone for. Not mine." Her voice was steely, yet Harry noticed she was not rushed; there was no defence to the words she thrust at him. She leaned over the desk to make her face level with his. "But let me make some things clear to you, Harry. Your Hogwarts was not mine. Your admirable best friend about whom we have been speaking knew I fancied him, and he made fun of me to make sure I knew it wasn't reciprocated. Hardly the Cruciatus, but it left some scars. Gregory healed them all." Harry's heart sank; he shifted with unexplained guilt. "Gregory was never anything other than gentle with me. And my mother is a Muggle, so there you are."

She looked at Harry with a knowing sympathy before she continued. "As for his loyalties now, it would be reasonable, if not expected, of one of our best Aurors to wonder about them. He is wholly focused on me and our two young, half-blood twin girls; they are his during the day. Further, Gregory cannot be blackmailed, as the Wizengamot have already cleaned his closet. I'm only sharing these details to which you are not entitled, Harry, because my file on you is as thick as a unabridged dictionary, and from it I am reminded throughout that you get a bit obsessed about your suspects." She pursed her lips, then curled them into a sly smile. "Speaking of which, Draco sends his regards. I believe you both have sons the same age. Perhaps you could meet up for a play date."

Harry thought it best to keep his face impassive. He knew she was evaluating him, and she acknowledged this.

"Harry, that monologue was selfish, not generous. I must know - was it sufficient enough to keep you out of my hydrangeas?"

Harry looked up at her and saw her smiling; she looked harassed, but there was some kindness there. He smiled sheepishly in return.

"Now," she continued, "as for your bemusement at having your Ministry owls monitored, I would like to remind you that was your idea. A good one. Aurors shouldn't have unchecked power; they should be monitored and debriefed to evaluate their loyalties. Constant vigilance. May we begin?"

"I suppose I did say something like that yesterday. How did you know I was complaining? Did you have the place bugged?"

Harry was just about to correct his Muggle-influenced language when Eloise grinned and tapped her nose.

"Well, Rita does need the money, and she is ripe for blackmail. That is classified, Harry. I don't need her looking for a higher bidder. But enough about that. Let's get back to you before you have to do the honourable thing by that planner of yours and marry it." She smiled at his lap, and he looked down to see his hands rubbing the leather spine. He dropped it onto the floor next to his chair, and Eloise chuckled.


End file.
